


Dappled is the Moon

by Mylos



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: A little OT4, Amazingly Gen, Angst, Aramis can't sleep without someone touching him, Because they still love d'Artagnan, Brotherhood, Families of Choice, Gen, Insomnia, OT3, Other, Prompt Fill, Spoilers for lots of episodes, bed sharing, h/c
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1416568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mylos/pseuds/Mylos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dreamwidth Kink-Meme Fill:</p><p>After Aramis sleeps with Anne, he promises Athos that he'll stay away from women for a while.  The problem is that Aramis can't sleep by himself.  He's managed to keep this hidden as best he can through the years, but in fulfilling his promise to Athos, he can't find a way around it, sending him deeper and deeper into the hole while the others try to figure out what's wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Starting Point

**Author's Note:**

> Dreamwidth fill for this prompt: Aramis/Any, Insomnia, h/c
> 
> "Aramis can't sleep alone. 
> 
> That's why he always seeks the ladies company for the night, or likes to share a room on missions or huddles close to his friends on the outside missions.
> 
> But the other three are completely unaware of the fact that he can't sleep alone, not even for a minute.
> 
> After the Queen incident Aramis promises Athos that he will keep himself away from the ladies for a while.
> 
> And that's when the others start noticing that something is really wrong. Aramis keeps his promise, but ends up alone every night => don't sleep for days => becomes a shadow of himself.
> 
> And of course the others simply can't leave it to that...
> 
> (Maybe after they figured out what's the matter, they decide that one of them would always stay with him...or something like that...)"

* * *

**Dappled is the Moon: The Starting Point  
**

* * *

It had started after Savoy. All the Musketeers—all his brothers—asleep in the same camp, yet somehow too far away from each other to hear the first throats being slit.  
  
And it was possible Porthos’ and Athos’ actions after-the-fact hadn’t helped as much as they’d believed. Worried about his injuries, they’d taken turns staying close to watch over him. All three of them cloistered up tight in that tiny room within the château-fort in Joinville. So keen for his recovery they’d fallen into habits. Twining fingers though his hair to settle him. Taking turns sleeping with him on his cot, hands pressed to his chest to track the rise and fall of his ribs. Sensitive in their nearness to his nightmares and mood swings.  
  
It’d worked for a while. He’d started sleeping through the night and little by little they’d made their way back to Paris, so that by the time they’d returned to the garrison it was easy enough to believe that everything that ailed him was on the mend.   
  
He’d begun to believe it too.  
  
Blessing the fact of being home, he’d spent the first night back tucked up in his waged quarters, convinced of the likelihood of rest, fitting himself to the mattress and tracing fingers over the healing scar along his hairline. The repetitive action feeling oddly soothing and alive. He’d fallen asleep that way, only to wake in a cold sweat not long after, visions of slaughter and ruin lighting up his mind. Feeling empty and cold and terribly alone.   
  
Again and again and again.

* * *

  
He began staying up, roaming the streets, or finding and sitting close to Athos on those nights that the man drank himself to destruction in the tavern, just to be near someone and not have to sleep. They rarely spoke on those occasions, and Athos, solitary drinker that he was, didn’t actually seem to mind.  
  
And if Aramis looked more haggard and bleary for a while, none of his brothers complained. It was expected, after all. No one returned from a massacre such as he’d endured and simply brushed it off. It took time.  
  
There was one conversation that emerged from it. Outside a pitiable tavern late one night, Athos pressed a hand to his chest and regarded him silently. Aramis held the gaze as long as he could before dropping his face away.   
  
“Aramis,” Athos began, a brush of hesitation in his voice that Aramis had never truly heard before. “I know what was said of me when I first joined the regiment—what’s said of me still. But if you are worried that my plan is to die on you, I promise that it is not.”  
  
Aramis swallowed. “Athos,” he forestalled.  
  
Athos’ hand moved to grip his shoulder and give it a shake. “I promise.”  
  
Aramis slumped back to the dusty brick, feeling disconnected and grateful all at once. Eventually he nodded and felt his face run with shivers when Athos finally let go of him.   
  
Inside the building, he swayed on motionless and indecisive feet before letting Athos procure his own bottle and corner without following him, believing it to be the sign of trust Athos had been hoping for. He sat with Porthos at the gambling table instead, feeling the sluggish way his blood was trying to feed his tired brain.  
  
Porthos tried to send him off to bed, twice, frown deepening each time. And finally Aramis went, thinking that with the looks he was getting, and the somewhat welcome but strange promise from Athos, maybe it was time to try again.  It turned out to be futile.  Nothing helped.  All he could feel when he lay down was the cold empty space around him, devoid of life. A gap of darkness hiding the stillness of death.

The vision of Athos and Porthos and Treville and _every damn solider in the regiment_ having their throats slit flooded in behind his eyelids before they were even completely closed.

* * *

  
In the ensuing week, Treville removed him from duty as a palace guard and, most gallingly to Aramis, tried to be gentle about it.  
  
Dismissed for the day, Aramis stumbled angrily towards the square and ran directly into Robine, widowed after only four months of marriage three years ago and one of the most entitled women in Paris. “Aramis,” she said, letting his name roll off her tongue. “Aramis.” Then she pressed near to him, alive and warm against his side.  
  
He went with her, silent and just this side of uncoordinated as she drew him onto her bed, delighted and laughing at his fumbling attempts to unlace her. But it was her skin, her breathing weight against his side after they were finished, that flooded him with contentment. Satiated, she’d nipped at his shoulder then set her chin on it, wrapping her arm tightly over his chest. Breathing. Breathing. Alive and there. And he slept. Not a single vision in his head. Not a nightmare. Not even for a heartbeat.   
  
He slept.

* * *

  
Two winkless and sleepless nights later, he tried it again. Leaving the tavern early and showing up at the garrison the next day rested and smelling of lavender.  
  
Porthos took one look at him and let his shoulders relax. Grinning at him for the first time in what felt like decades, he added a wink when their eyes caught.  
  
Smiling, Aramis shuddered out a relieved breath and winked back.

* * *

  
tbc


	2. Variations in Circumstance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Situations through the years - basically, Aramis learning to deal.

* * *

**Dappled is the Moon: Variations in Circumstance  
**

* * *

Most of the time, it was a matter of just figuring things out. A matter of finding what worked and what didn't. He tried floating his bland requests to working girls a few times, but ended up feeling colder for it, and it didn't help. They were paid for the actions of their trade, not to sleep dormant with him all night long. They didn't have the time, nor he the money, to keep such a thing going.

Drunken oblivion, for all that Athos seemed to make it work for him when required, was problematic at best. The few times Aramis tried it, all it did was make the nightmares walk into his waking world. It never let him close his eyes.

If he were to remain sane, and a soldier—and what else could he be?—he needed people. Solid. Grounding. And alive. Even better if they were those he already cared for.

In Paris, he had lovers. On assignment, his brothers—when he could take advantage of their settings without raising suspicion towards this damaged piece of himself he'd so precariously stitched together. And if there were sleepless nights for stretches in between, he learned to deal with that.

* * *

"Two beds, three of us," said Athos, directing them down the hallway and into their room.

Two beds, three bodies. Not an uncommon circumstance for them.

"I'll share," Aramis spoke up quickly, the buzz of relief easing the exhausted knot between his shoulder blades. It was easier when circumstances provided for the need. So much easier.

"Nah," said Porthos, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "You shared the last time we only had two beds."

"And the three times before that," agreed Athos, sliding his dagger away from his hip and unbuckling his sword belt. "Take the bed by the window, Aramis. Porthos and I will share the other."

Aramis shifted, feeling his heart clench up in protest while trying to work out what to say. "They're rather small beds," he tried. "Porthos being the tallest, you and I would fit to one better, wouldn't we, Athos?"

Porthos gave a light chuckle. "Such a gentleman, our Aramis."

Athos smiled as well, but when he turned to Aramis there was something worried in his gaze. "Porthos is bigger than you, yes, but the two of us have fit to smaller before with no trouble. Besides, you need the rest, Aramis. You don't look as though you've been sleeping these last few nights. We have quite the ride ahead of us remaining and I'd like to see you well rested, at least enough to not get sick."

Aramis cleared his throat, trying not to let the sound emerge as desperate as he felt, while working his mind around another protest they'd accept. His mind was blank.

"Aramis, you need the sleep," Athos said firmly. "You're not putting anyone out, and I don't want to risk you being disturbed tonight if one of us gets fidgety." He jerked his chin towards the bed by the window. "Go. Now."

Hesitating all of a second more, Aramis obeyed, dropping to the mattress and tugging off his boots without looking behind him, feeling the empty distance. Then, acquiescing under Athos' watchful gaze, he stretched himself out and pressed his head into the pillow, rolling away towards the window so that his brothers would not notice his eyes were still open.

After a time, when the soft breathing behind him became smooth and even, he rolled back to look at them. Porthos on his side with his knees bent. Athos, slightly higher on the bed with an arm stretched over the top of Porthos' head.

In the pale moonlight, they both looked like ghosts. Like bodies. Shadows roaming over their torsos, darkening patches of their skin to create the appearance of blood.

Aramis could hear them, but the room was too dim for him to see their chests move. Too distant for him to feel it. It was as if a chasm of a thousand leagues lay between them.

Quietly as he could, he sat up, leaned against the wall and rubbed fingers through his hair.

It would be a long night.

x

In the morning, in the middle of redressing, Athos pressed down on his shoulder to get him sitting on the bed again while he gripped both sides of his face and contemplated his eyes. "Are you getting sick after all, then?"

Aramis shook his head, as much as Athos' grip would allow. "No."

Porthos' large palm landed on his forehead, so warm and welcome it nearly made Aramis' eyes close. "I don't feel a fever," Porthos said, taking his hand away.

Athos frowned for a minute more and then let go of him. "All right. Finish getting dressed, but stay close to me on the ride today. Porthos will do the scouting if we need it."

"Athos, I'm fine," he insisted.

"I'm sure you are," said Athos, skeptical eyebrow saying everything else he needed to.

x

Porthos finished tying the oiled tent cloth between the trees and stepped back, glancing at the breaking sky before waving to Athos.

Athos finished dousing the fire and came over. Attuned to the rumbling of thunder above them, he evaluated Porthos' handiwork. "If we want to stay dry, we'll have to crowd," he said.

Porthos nodded.

Aramis did everything he could to keep his relief from showing.

Blearily he crawled under the bedding, rolling sideways on the blanket as Athos came in behind him. Soon enough, Porthos joined them, and after a bit of shuffling Aramis felt Athos' arm settle securely over his ribs. In front of him, Porthos yawned a heaving breath before tucking close and letting Aramis press his forehead into his shoulder.

His eyes drooped and he was gone within seconds.

* * *

After being separated for weeks, they were to meet at an inn a bit too far outside Chartres to give them options. Arriving a day early, Aramis had doused himself in icy water from the well and then threaded his fingers into his hair, gripping against the pulsing ache his latest bout of sleeplessness had left him with.

"Just like a Musketeer to be so stupid," a voice invaded. "Getting all wet in weather such as this. If this is the way you're going to behave, I'll take it as a bad sign. I'm not sure I want your kind around here."

Aramis looked up. "Mademoiselle?"

"Madame. And instead of working your thin brain around what to call me, maybe you should be telling me why I should let you stay when all you lot bring is trouble?"

Aramis stared, warring with himself and the coyness of the offer in her eyes. But of course, he went with her, letting her amuse herself with a few simple games of pain.

Lying next to her after, it was a fitful sleep, but sleep it still was.

x

When Athos and Porthos arrived the next day, it preceded, barely just, the arrival of her husband, and they had to move on anyway. Athos shaking his head and Porthos gritting his teeth like he had something to say.

When they stopped to give rest to their horses along the road, Aramis glanced over, waiting for it to come out.

Porthos remained silent and wouldn't meet his eyes.

"I'm sorry I lost us our lodgings," Aramis finally said, realizing too late that his voice had emerged a little too dead to sound sincere.

Porthos cracked, pinning their gazes together and working his mouth in a way that told Aramis he was trying not to pick a fight. "She was cruel, Aramis, to all of us, let alone her husband. She insulted Athos the minute he showed up, and tarnished your name besides. Why would you go with her?"

Aramis looked away. "Seemed prudent, at the time."

Rolling his eyes, Porthos gripped the reins of his horse and disappeared towards the stream.

* * *

Taking up temporary residence in a haymow on the outskirts of Rouen, they commenced their watch of the road, waiting for the smugglers they knew to be using the rout.

Porthos slept soundly down below while Athos sat with his back pressed to the slats near the wide cut window. "You can sleep yourself you know," he said to Aramis, his eyes settling on the pile of hay Aramis was leaning against while cleaning his flintlock for the thirteenth time. "We're not likely to even see them tonight and I can wake you if we do."

Aramis shook his head while folding up his oilcloth. "I'll help you watch. I'm not tired yet—wouldn't sleep anyway."

Athos looked like he wanted to say something, but closed his mouth against it. A while later, he spoke again. "Aramis, you should sleep. You can take your watch in the morning."

Grimacing at the gathering insistence in Athos' voice, and realizing it was precariously close to becoming an order, Aramis lifted his head, peered out the wide window towards the rising moon and gave a very real shiver. It was poorly timed for the way Athos perked up at it, but in a flash Aramis realized how he might use it to his advantage.

"Aramis?"

"I'm cold," he answered with a shrug. "Not keen to sleep."

Athos watched him with narrowed eyes. "Come sit over here, then," he finally said, crossing one foot over the other and indicating the empty floorboards next to him.

After the barest of hesitations, Aramis rose and sat, feeling the way Athos' breathing shifted the press of their arms. The gentle rhythm of it lulled him, and slowly, Aramis felt his head droop against Athos' shoulder. Athos left it there and four hours later, Aramis awoke as if from the dead, rubbing warily at the crick in his neck.

* * *

tbc (next chapter, his promise to Athos and the aftermath)

**Author's Note:**

> If you love it, let it show :)


End file.
